


A long-awaited snow day (leading to some long-awaited confessions)

by syndrigastidreamer



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Multiple ships, Peculiar Children, Secret Santa, Silly Boys, Snowball Fights, beginning of a relationship, exhausted but adoring bird mom, future boyfriends, general snow shenanigans, iceskating, peculiarsecretsanta2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9048271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syndrigastidreamer/pseuds/syndrigastidreamer
Summary: This is mainly Enorace, with some background Jemma and Fiona/Hugh, along with Miss P and all our other favorite peculiar children! Everyone is on vacation together, experiencing their first real snow day in roughly a lifetime. Confessions and happiness ensue. I'm falling asleep while typing this.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ictufortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ictufortuna).



> This work is a Secret Santa gift for tumblr user ictufortuna! I'm just posting it here because it's easier for me to do that on mobile, instead of using tumblr exclusively to post this. Expect a cute holiday-themed story, just happiness and nothing offensive. Merry Christmas, ictufortuna!

'Eternal winter' is a theme in several of the books and fairytales that Miss Peregrine, Bronwyn, and Millard had shared with everyone back in their loop; during classes, at bedtime, on sleepy afternoons. A small part of Enoch had almost envied the characters in those stories at times, had wondered what it would be like to be trapped in a 'winter wonderland' instead of their loop, which was almost the exact opposite. Some peculiars are suspended in their own eternal winters, but not Miss Peregrine and her children. Warm, sunny days were alright, he supposed, grudgingly back then. They had their merit. But after London, it felt wrong to spend every single day that way. He missed that chill in the air. He missed rain, and even snow after going long enough without any. He wasn't longing for 'eternal,' but maybe a little winter could be nice, just for a change. 

His desires were wrong; he realizes that now. He is at this moment grumpily visualizing stomping that small, idiotic part of his former self into the snow-packed ground. Their group makes their way slowly to the large Wyoming cabin they'll be living in for the next week thanks to Mr. And Mrs. Portman, a vacation that some of the others—Olive, Claire, and Horace are the main targets of his current irritation—had petitioned and pleaded for, finally managing to talk Miss Peregrine into. It's not that Enoch doesn't understand their reasoning, their desire; this is their second real December since entering their loop a lifetime ago. Ever since they left it behind, everyone has been excited to have a more storybook-appropriate, organic winter experience. To celebrate. Last year, in Florida, was disappointing. Still, he isn't one to push aside his own feelings for the greater good. 

To prove his point, he fixes an icy glare on Horace, who is walking beside him, the two of them having fallen naturally into step together without thinking about it. But Horace is paying no attention to him, hugging his top hat—last year's Christmas gift from Jacob, who wanted to thank him for the scarf, a debt he wasn't sure he could ever repay—gently to his chest so that he can gaze directly up at the puffy white clouds, promising even more snow, as they walk. There is a vaguely infuriating bounce in his step, his cheeks and the tip of his nose are already turning pink from the cold, his breath coming out in little puffs that match the clouds he's so entranced by, and his smile is bright. No, more than that—now he's a word Enoch would sooner die than allow anyone to hear him using—it's dazzling. He can't keep up the glare, so he turns forward again, feeling somehow warmer than before. Someone needs to watch where they're stepping, after all; Horace would probably walk in front of a train (or over a cliff) right now. He rolls his eyes at that thought, but still makes a point to watch Horace's every step the rest of the way to the cabin.

Enoch has barely had time to thaw or enjoy the cabin before he is being pulled back out the door. His attention lingers on Horace's small hand gently clasping his, and he barely notices Claire's even smaller hand tugging at the other. They're going iceskating, and he hadn't even planned on going; it sounds awful and he's certain he'll just humiliate himself. In the end, his complaints were silenced by Horace's giddy excitement, and now here he is. He spares one envious glance over his shoulder at Hugh and Fiona cuddled happily on a small sofa under a pile of quilts, as the door is closing behind him, the last to be dragged back out into the bitter cold since everyone else already rushed excitedly ahead. Hugh hadn't even wanted to walk to the cabin; fearing for the safety and comfort of his bees, he had been the only one even less happy about this vacation than Enoch. Well, he seems happy enough now. Ever since Fiona found her way back to them, she and Hugh have been living in an almost impenetrable bubble of happiness and warmth together, but of course, Enoch is not jealous of that. Obviously. They all feel complete again, now that she's back with them. 

Recently, Enoch has realized that maybe he can understand how Hugh must have felt, thinking Fiona was lost, dead, that he had failed her somehow and would never see her again. Enoch was upset and worried about Fiona too, of course. They all were, and even he can admit (at least to himself) that he would feel the same about any of his friends. Still, he does have one person that he holds closer, that matters to him even more than anyone else, just like Hugh and Fiona do. A loss that could destroy him. It's weird, and stupid, because he has been around for so long... should the fact that he has now aged physically, to sixteen instead of fourteen, really make such a difference? He has gone so long without ever experiencing feelings quite like this, that he never thought he would. He never thought about it at all, really. But now, he feels himself spiraling straight down into it, getting lost in the seemingly endless shades of blue in another person's eyes, the warmth of a hand, and for the first time in his life, he wonders if maybe—hopes that maybe—when he reaches the bottom, he won't find himself alone there. Maybe thirteen is similarly different from fifteen, maybe there is something in the browns and greens of his own eyes that could be worth getting lost in, maybe the perpetual cold of his hands isn't too unpleasant. After all, Claire clinging to him is predictable, expected, but Horace doing the same, casually, happily; that's new. And Enoch really, really doesn't hate it. 

He is jerked unceremoniously back into reality when he slips on a small patch of ice, Horace and Claire managing to keep him on his feet.  
Still, the little giggle and soft "be careful, Enoch!" from Claire is embarrassing enough to keep him watching his step the rest of the way to the pond.   
"This miserable ice is hardly my fault," he mutters, "it's impossible to walk on."   
Now Horace is giggling, and that sound is worth being laughed at. In related news, Enoch would like to punch himself in the face. Claire shrugs and drops his hand, having lost interest in him for the moment, and skips over to grab Olive's instead. Horace reluctantly lets go as well; it's pointless to keep pulling Enoch along when they're already outside, and if he holds on while Claire has let go, it'll be like they're just holding hands as they walk, and that feels... different from what he was doing before, somehow. At least a little bit. 

"Have you been iceskating before, Enoch?" Horace looks up at him—only slightly up!—with wide eyes and a smile that's verging on shy, biting his lip, a recent habit that Miss Peregrine has been unsuccessfully attempting to break him of. Enoch hopes she remains unsuccessful. He frowns and shakes his head, sorry to have a boring answer.  
"I was never the iceskating type, not like you. All of you, I guess."   
He looks briefly around at the rest of their group, even Millard clearly visible in this weather, bundled up in all the winter clothing Miss Peregrine made every one of them wear as the main rule for leaving the cabin.   
"Balancing on a blade, trying not to fall, in weather like this? Wasn't really my thing."   
Horace looks only a little disappointed, and nods understandingly, hoping Enoch didn't think that was a stupid question. Their early lives were a lot different, and of course Horace is aware of that.   
"Oh. Right... well, I used to go all the time, anytime I got the chance anyway! Just don't tell anyone," he presses a finger to his lips, "they might expect me to be good, and obviously it's been ages! I'm sure I'll be just dreadful." He cringes, and Enoch is definitely not thinking about how endearing it is, the way his nose crinkles when he does that. 

In the end, it turns out that Horace still has most of his skills after all. He's out of practice, but it's not like starting all over, which he had been afraid of. He is graceful, and fearless on the ice in a way that's rare to see in him. Enoch, on the other hand, ends up falling within the first few minutes, and after being thoroughly embarrassed by Horace and Bronwyn hovering over him, he decides to sit out, sullenly watching everyone skate. He tries not to be obvious about the fact that most of his attention is on a certain pretty blonde boy, skating circles around the others while he teaches them, wearing fluffy robins-egg-blue earmuffs to complement the rest of his Miss Peregrine-approved outfit instead of his customary top hat. He's smiling so brightly, looking so carefree, far from the Horace Enoch most often spends alone time with, in the dead of night, panicky and exhausted from his nightmares, too afraid to fall back asleep. They spend most of that time in sleepy, companionable silence, keeping themselves occupied with whatever activities they can; it's not like Enoch just sits there staring at him. Right now though, he shines so brightly it's hard to look away.

Jacob is the most pathetic on the ice. He struggles just to stay on his feet for the first fifteen minutes, until eventually Emma takes pity on him and snatches his hand to guide him, rolling her eyes affectionately—a skill Enoch thinks maybe he should work on, himself—and wrapping an arm carefully around his waist whenever he needs extra support. Emma is no Horace, Enoch thinks dismissively, but she's good enough that Jake certainly isn't going to be dragging her down along with him. Bronwyn tries her best to keep Olive and Claire's hands in hers, worried for their safety—particularly Olive's, in her special extra-weighted iceskates—but it turns out that they're better at this than her, and after falling and pulling them down to the ice on top of her about three times, she sets them free. They take off like two little birds, Claire drifting almost as weightlessly as Olive and trying to mimic Horace, while Olive twirls around Bronwyn, worried that she will fall again and not wanting to see her hurt. As if there were much she could do to help. Millard is decent at skating, he hasn't fallen at least, but he isn't all that interested. When Enoch—after slipping a couple of homunculi from his pocket to entertain himself and finding the clay has become too hardened by the cold, tiny limbs snapping off under his gentlest ministrations—begins tossing carefully aimed snowballs at the skaters out of boredom, Millard soon joins him. 

"This would be far more fun without these clothes," he sighs, a bit over-dramatically. "I'd dominate in a snowball fight. Not to sound full of myself." He doesn't really sound concerned about whether he sounds full of himself or not.  
"Well," Enoch deadpans, "it might be interesting to watch you freeze. Would you become visible at some point in the process?" He aims a snowball at Jacob, startling him and disrupting his balance. He earns a rather heated glare from Emma, and gives her an innocent shrug in return, holding up his empty hands. He hits Jacob in the back of the head with another one as soon as they've turned their backs to him again.  
Millard aims for Horace, who from anyone other than Enoch's perspective is showing off.   
"It wouldn't be much of a show, you sadist." By the third snowball, Horace's balance has been somewhat upset and he's shooting them unimpressed, suspicious looks, so Millard switches to targeting Bronwyn. Enoch alternates between Claire and Olive, and if you accused him of being gentler now with his tosses, he wouldn't admit it. Bronwyn was already almost knocked over thanks to Millard and her own balance which was poor even without being pelted with snow, and after watching Olive and Claire under attack, she—a bit clumsily—turns toward them with what, coming from Bronwyn, could pass as a vaguely menacing glower. In a bit of bad timing, Millard catches Emma in the side of her face at almost this exact moment, and the two troublemakers are quickly under attack themselves.

Bronwyn skates off to the side of the pond and stumblingly changes back to her regular boots, then begins constructing a monstrous snowball. Enoch and Millard exchange a wide-eyed look, as best as you can when one of you lacks a visible face, but before they can make a break for it, a vengeful Emma Bloom is towering over them—Enoch could almost swear he catches a glimpse of dancing flames in her eyes—with Jacob barely managing to hold back his laughter behind her. They make their escape attempt while everyone is struggling back out of iceskates, but are soon tackled by Olive and Claire. An all-out snow war ensues, with no allegiances lasting long—soon Claire is battling Olive, and Enoch targets Millard—and no holds barred. Eventually, and he wouldn't be willing nor able to tell you exactly how later, if you happened to ask, Enoch finds himself half on top of Horace—who had been the last to allow himself to be dragged into this battle—practically straddling him after being tackled by the smaller boy and managing to roll them over so he has the upper hand. He has a handful of tightly-packed snow ready to shove in Horace's face, and obviously it was silly to choose Enoch as an opponent; he is far more experienced at battle, Horace never once having participated in 'raid the village,' even. 

Regardless, he's hesitating. Horace is just staring up at him—both of them breathless and shivering by now—eyes wide, expression unbothered, almost daring Enoch to use that snow. But this is a game, and although he is never one to surrender or show mercy in a war game, he isn't about to shove snow into Horace's open eyes, those kaleidoscopes of blue. He would probably flinch and close them at the last moment anyway in all honesty, he just doesn't expect Enoch to do it; Enoch pretends not to realize that. Instead, he drops the snow and pushes himself to his feet, offering Horace a hand which he hesitates just the briefest moment before taking, and being pulled gently to his feet.   
"You were pinned," Enoch smirks at him, "at my mercy. That's a loss, no need to humiliate you further. It's an honorable victory."  
Horace rolls his eyes, going a bit redder in the cheeks, "Whatever you say, Enoch."

The fight has mostly gone out of everyone by this point, and it wouldn't take much convincing to get them inside. As it turns out, they get that convincing anyway, from a disapproving Miss Peregrine. She has ventured out to check on them and to announce that hot cocoa is waiting for them inside and lunch will be ready soon, only to find them all freezing and worn out, their clothes soaked through with the snow that has begun to soften in the afternoon sun.   
"I expect to see you all in the kitchen, in dry clothing, in no more than ten minutes!"  
She taps her pocket watch firmly, and they're off, trying not to laugh until they're out of her sight to avoid more trouble. Out of their sight, her expression softens into a soft, affectionate smile, accompanied by a gentle shake of her head as she steps back into the cabin behind them, pulling the door closed behind her.

Enoch finds he is sharing a bedroom with Horace; Miss Peregrine has kindly taken the liberty of moving everyone's belongings while they were outside, setting them next to the beds she expects each of them to use. They are careful to stay turned away from each other as they change their clothing, and are both silent at first, a bit nervous.   
"Enoch?" the soft voice has him turning, once they've both had plenty of time to dress. He had been looking out the window while he waited, not wanting to turn too soon, getting lost in thought instead. Horace is holding a package out toward him, wrapped in shimmery blue paper with a silver ribbon.   
"Hanukkah has begun for this year now, right?" It's a rhetorical question, he's just a little nervous, his smile soft. They both know from watching Miss Peregrine pack that she has prepared for it, they're just still getting used to life in the 2000s (2012 now, soon to be 2013). "I had to check with Jacob way ahead of time, that it would begin during this trip. I needed to be sure I would be finished in time!" He holds the gift out a little further, trying not to babble too much, and Enoch takes it from him.   
"I have a few for you," Horace admits, "but I worked hardest on this. To celebrate the first day of Hanukkah." 

Horace celebrates Christmas, himself, and won't be expecting any gifts before then; a variety of holidays are celebrated among them, and they are all respectful of each other during these months, led by Miss Peregrine. They usually exchange some gifts, but this is the hardest and the longest that Horace has ever worked on one by far.   
"Well, go ahead," he gestures for Enoch to open his present.  
"I wasn't really expecting a gift from you," Enoch is looking down at it, his attention caught by the sparkling paper. Horace really does a lovely job at wrapping, unlike him. It's almost a shame to undo his work. He looks up from the paper to meet Horace's eyes, smiling faintly, before taking a step backwards and sitting on his bed to focus on unwrapping. Inside is a beautifully knitted sweater, black with small green stripes.   
"I searched every shop Jacob could find for that shade of green," Horace admits, "before having to give up and dye it myself. That took a fair amount of trial and error, too." He sits next to Enoch and holds a sweater sleeve up next to his face to compare colors, smiling at his own success. "I wanted it to match your eyes just perfectly, and if you'll forgive my boasting, I believe I've succeeded!" 

Enoch is bad at reacting to gifts, increasingly the more they mean to him, and lucky for him everyone—Horace included—knows that by now.   
"Well," the smaller blonde shrugs happily, "maybe you can wear that to lunch, it should keep you warm! I'll see you downstairs!" and with that he's gone from the room, before Enoch can feel pressured to thank him. He hugs the sweater to his chest for several moments without realizing he's doing it, just thinking—and blushing!—before pulling it on over the black shirt he had already dressed in.   
"It suits you just perfectly," Millard's teasing voice interrupts his peaceful moment, and he turns from the mirror he had been barely focused on with a glare around the room, heart pounding and cheeks flushed quite red. But Millard seems to be gone now—and how is Enoch supposed to know whether he is or isn't? There were footsteps, at least—so he leaves the room, almost stomping his way out to the kitchen. He even considers, for just a moment, telling Miss Peregrine that Millard is spying again. But annoyed and embarrassed or not, Enoch is no tattletale. Horace's shy smile softens his mood once he reaches the kitchen, and he joins him in helping to set the table while the others slowly trickle in, warm and dry now, one or two at a time.

After soup and hot cocoa, no one feels much like moving for the rest of the afternoon. Miss Peregrine is playing holiday-appropriate movies for them, and after nearly two years outside of the loop this is still enough to keep them dazzled. Half of them are obsessed with television, now. It's beginning to get dark outside when Millard plops down next to Enoch on the sofa he had been quite happy having to himself, and ignores the sharp elbow jab Enoch owed him from earlier.   
"Have you seen Horace around recently?" he whispers, a smile in his voice like he knows something Enoch doesn't. He looks around the room out of instinct, and sure enough, there is no Horace to be found. He left the room for some water an hour ago, and never returned. No one has paid any mind, too busy cuddling for the most part. Even Miss Peregrine is quietly drifting off to sleep in an armchair, worn out from watching over all of them today. They've been a challenge for her!

"If I were looking for him," Millard suggests helpfully, "I might check the pond. Mainly because I saw him sneaking out with iceskates twenty minutes ago." He glances over at Miss Peregrine, checking that she's still paying them no attention. "Of course, you're not Horace's keeper. I was just a little worried, it's getting dark after all, and he's alone out there. Imagine him falling, it would just take one wrong move, and he could be injured, head busted open on the ice, with no one to help him." He keeps his voice carefully free of any emotion, and honestly, he's not that worried. Horace hasn't been gone long, and he can generally take care of himself just fine. Still, Millard would rather have someone out there with him just as a safety precaution, and he doesn't feel like venturing back out into the cold this evening himself, nor is he going to turn Horace in to Miss P for sneaking out. Anyway, he along with everyone else is always trying to push those two off somewhere alone together, waiting for them to finally admit the feelings they clearly have for one another. Maybe tonight is the night. He's just offering Enoch the standard push.

"If you were actually so worried, you'd be out there, wouldn't you? You'd have followed him." Enoch tries to sound annoyed, like this whole thing is a bother to him, but the truth is that whether or not Millard is worried, he is. It bleeds through into his voice. It's obvious, and he hates it, but it can't be helped now. Millard shook him deeply with that visual of Horace alone and injured in all that cold and darkness, and he's already standing, heading to his and Horace's room to pull on some more clothing. Millard is left smiling on the sofa, pleased with himself, as Enoch quietly makes his way out the front door. 

He finds Horace on the ice, twirling around like a snowflake caught in a breeze, almost glowing in all the white and powdery blue he's wearing tonight. He's skating like he has an audience, and clearly enjoying having all that space to himself without having to worry about anyone else. He certainly hasn't injured himself, there's no blood in sight, so there's that maybe-irrational fear banished. No thanks to one Millard Nullings. Enoch hesitates to make his presence known for a few minutes. The show Horace is putting on is lovely—there's another word you would never catch Enoch using outside of his mind—and someone might as well watch it. 

But Horace feels Enoch's eyes on him long before the other boy decides to reveal himself. He always detects that gaze, they're like magnets pulled toward each other. He finds his silhouette, picks it out from the rest of the darkness, and in reality the show he's putting on isn't just for himself. He's been putting on shows for Enoch for months now, looking for signs that the new feelings—scary, beautiful feelings—he's been working so hard to sort through all on his own, are requited. His best guess now is that they are, and maybe he's completely wrong, finding hope where none exists. Where he just wishes it existed. But he's feeling braver now than he ever has before, and he's learned to distinguish between what's worth risking everything for, and what isn't. Then again, maybe he's being a little dramatic; is he really 'risking everything' by confessing his feelings to Enoch? He chuckles softly to himself, on the ice, and thinks that it's possible he is, so he won't judge his own thoughts too harshly. There are worse things to be than 'dramatic.' 

With this thought in mind, he twirls toward Enoch, planning on doing this right now, while he feels courage and something a little stronger, too, bubbling up inside him. Their eyes meet and Enoch looks a bit startled, then suddenly his skates are sliding out from under him and the world is a spinning, shadowy blur, the ice rushing up to meet him. At first all he feels is a vague sense of humiliation—he hasn't fallen all day, and of course now, of all possible cursed moments, he does—and the seeping cold of the ice against his hands, which at least saved his face from damage.   
"Horace, you should not be out here alone! Something like this was bound to happen, when you're being so careless!" Enoch is trying to sound angry while all he's actually feeling is panic, and he should know by now that Horace always sees through that. "Do you think anyone wants to find you crying alone out here in the middle of the night? Hours after injuring yourself, because you never let anyone know you were leaving? What if it wasn't until morning?" He sounds so worried, more so than he should be because Horace is clearly okay, even looking dizzily up into his eyes now, as his feet clatter and slide across the ice. 

"Well, I wasn't alone out here, now was I?" He smiles gently, reassuringly, then tries to push himself up and gasps softly when pain stabs through his ankle as soon as he puts any pressure on it, collapsing again. Well, he thinks bitterly, if he thought the fall itself was humiliating, look at him now, sprawled out pathetically, helplessly at Enoch's feet on the ice.   
"Stop wiggling, just—be still." Enoch sighs deeply, and at least Horace isn't the only dramatic one around here. 

He isn't expecting to be lifted off the ice and into Enoch's arms, and for a moment he struggles weakly, embarrassed.  
"I just needed a moment to rest, Enoch, honestly I'm just fine! This is ridiculous." He's sure his face is the color of strawberries. "I just twisted my ankle, I might have banged my knee on the ice... I can walk on my own, I promise."   
Enoch doesn't feel like arguing, so instead he lowers Horace back onto his injured leg; not all the way, just enough to draw out the little cry of pain he had known would follow. Satisfied, he lifts Horace back up into his arms, expecting to hear no more demands to walk now.  
"I said I needed a moment to rest," Horace is pouting, "I would have been fine, I just needed a little time."  
"Well, forgive me for not leaving you face-down on the ice to 'rest.'" He rolls his eyes, leaving no room for anymore complaints other than his own. "You're heavy," he tries to distract Horace from wanting to get down with a light taunt, empty as it is considering the relative ease with which he's carrying him. He's actually lighter than Enoch imagined, though he's not exactly used to carrying people around. "I hope I can get you all the way back inside."

Horace is really pouting now, this whole moment ruined, like every other moment he's thought was right. Maybe he'll never confess. He sighs, feeling dejected, and Enoch has mercy on him.   
"Don't get all self-conscious." He frowns, "I'm just... being an idiot, okay, this is no trouble. Sorry." He rushes the apology, wanting it gone from his mouth as quickly as possible. "I was just... concerned, I guess, just a little bit. I don't like seeing you hurt. Are you still hurting? I shouldn't have put you down like that. So stupid." He's mumbling to himself by the end of that. He's disappointed in himself. He always loses control around Horace, the last person on earth he wants to lose control around, and ends up acting without thinking and making a fool of himself. 

Suddenly, pieces snap together in Horace's mind and he realizes he's seen something like this moment before, in a dream he hadn't dared classify as prophetic. He has a blind spot over everyone he loves, of course, and there's no one more important to him than Enoch. Foolish to hope. Now however, against all odds, he realizes that this moment may not be ruined, after all. If only he can take courage. Before he has time to second-guess himself, he has leaned up as much as he can toward Enoch's face, stopping barely a breath away. 

"Can I kiss you?" His heart is hammering away dizzyingly fast, the moment between his breathless request for permission and Enoch's stunned nod stretching on for an eternity. Then they're pressed together at the lips, gentle and warm, a first kiss for both of them. It feels right, that's the best word to describe it, comfortable while sending sparks through their bodies at the same time. It is everything they have been separately dreaming it might be... and maybe a little bit more. Neither of them could tell you later how long they stood there in the snow, in the darkness, in the silence, just soaking in each other's warmth. It could have been minutes, or perhaps only seconds; difficult to tell. One of Horace's hands ends up tangled gently in Enoch's brand new sweater, one of Enoch's tangled even more gently in Horace's hair, careful to keep him supported. 

The rest of their night is spent together, a closer 'together,' somehow, than any they've shared before. Still, this isn't sudden; they've been working slowly toward this moment for what feels like forever. Sneaking past the others in the living room is easy since (almost) everyone is asleep—they are unaware of Millard's smug smile—Jacob and Emma tangled almost awkwardly together on a couch, Fiona and Hugh cuddling on the other (one stray bee, sits on Hugh's cheek, staring at them with large, unsettling eyes, like a hyper-aware guardian to its host), Millard cuddled between Bronwyn and Olive in a pile of blankets, Claire curled up in Miss Peregrine's lap in her armchair. They thaw quietly together in their temporary shared room, allowing each other a chance to think, to absorb. Once they're nice and warm, Enoch fetches ice from the kitchen for Horace's sore ankle and knee. The rest of the night is spent in shy, then gradually more candid, confessions. They share their mutual second-ever kiss, then they're falling asleep, Horace drifting off first with a soft smile that warms Enoch to his core.

Olive is the first to find them snuggled up in the morning, and Bronwyn just barely manages to stop her from leaping on top of them in time. Everyone is excited for them, and just wants them to wake up so they can talk to them—admittedly, they all want to tease them too, but out of love!—but cooler minds prevail, Millard's and Bronwyn's in particular. Thus they are mercifully left alone in their own personal warm, happy bubble; no one has ever seen Enoch smile in his sleep before this morning, and Horace is almost always the first out of bed, greeting everyone else as they gradually make their way downstairs. They deserve this peace, and no one knows it more than those impatiently waiting for them around the cabin's large, round kitchen table. 

"Good morning!" In a heartbeat, everyone's eyes are on Horace, who has paused in the doorway still in his pajamas. This is literally the first any of them can remember this happening; they see him in pajamas when they've woken to his screams in the middle of the night and rushed to his bedroom, but they always wake up in the morning to a neatly-dressed Horace, ready for the day. He's almost glowing, looking remarkably refreshed, with a soft, warm happiness radiating off of him. Enoch trails sleepily behind him, no more a morning person today than he is any other day. He looks well-rested for once, though, and every eye lingers on the sweater from yesterday, the one he's still wearing, over his pajamas now.

"Nnn," Enoch practically groans instead of offering a proper greeting. Horace turns to smile brightly at him, and he can't help returning that smile. He may not be a morning person, but he's most definitely a Horace person.   
"Sorry to have kept you all waiting! Why aren't you eating?" Horace turns his smile on the rest of them, spreading gentle sunshine over them. When he catches Enoch's hand without thinking and their barely-suppressed giggles all burst free at once, it's hardly a surprise to either him or Enoch. They may go matching shades of strawberry-red, but they aren't surprised.


End file.
